Like Tag Team, I’m back again. Check it. Wreck it.
Sit and spin.
No no no. That’s not right. Laundry going: that’s right. Spinning. Spin cycle. Bi-cycle.
I say “motor-sickle.” My wife thinks it should be “motor-sigh-cle.” Nobody says “bi-sigh-cle,” though, so I stick with “motor-sickle.” Motorcycles: not my favorite things, especially those loud “look-at-me (but don’t look at me) kind.”
Beer: Little Sumpin’ Wild. Number three, and it’s the last beer slash wine (beer/wine) in the house, unless I dip into something real special, and that ain’t gonna happen. There’s no desire, really. I swear. I have a full beer here in front of me. Beer here dear. I rhymed queer, earlier, as in odd. Again, this is the effect Shel Silverstein can have on a person.
But the first’n, maybe I should get down to bidness. Aw, hell: the whole day was bidness.
My…low mood was quite evident yesterday. Work: I owe it all to work. Hey, thanks work! Work also cost me some sleep last night—I may have mentioned it hasn’t been my best week—and then Liam didn’t help in the wee hours of the morning, but I can’t complain too much about snugglin’ with the kid.
I CAN complain about having too much work to do while he’s around. But I won’t. Just know it’s possible.
I got up this morning and I wasn’t well rested and I went to Bella Bru kinda early, like I left around 7, and given the earliness my wife requested a hot chocolate and I forgot to order it—not my routine. Don’t get me wrong—I got it. But I ordered my usual: lemon poppy seed muffin, large mocha. I paid. I sat down, waiting for my mocha, and then I remembered. I think I let out an audible “Shit!” (I don’t have the best control of my expletives. My son will surely suffer at school because of it. But if I do things right, he’ll also spin some philosophy on his punishers. “What’s in a word? Henceforth I declare the word tasty to mean ‘fuck’ in my world, so tasty you, hamster penis!”) I ordered the hot chocolate and got all three items and chatted a moment and left. I think I looked like a zombie, so maybe all I chatted was “Braaaainns.” But I think there was conversation.
I came home and started working, which is sad, right? I ate my muffin on the way. Oh, I did underwater the garden—it let me know later when I looked out the window and was aware it was hot and most plants just looked at me, shoulders sagging, eyes drooping, asking me, “Why? Why? Why-hy-hy-hyyyyyy?” A tear fell. It was mine. But that was later. For now (which was morning), I had work to do.
Work got done. Or, some of it did, and other work got pushed forward on the slider bar. I could sit and try to explain all I have to do right now, but it would mean nothing to you. I could explain the odd situation I was put in to have to manage my own supervisor on a project, but what good would that do? I apparently failed, if you ask him. This has been my week…plus 2 documents I have due in less than 2 weeks that are inexplicably complicated, another I’m overseeing production of, an ongoing project that’s surprisingly demanding AND requires quarterly reports, a completely different project (two, really) I’m managing for which I need to review…6 documents, at this point, none of which I’ve even had a chance to look at…oh, and I’m interviewing 3 people next week. Could we postpone Labor Day a few weeks? I’d prefer to enjoy it. But at least Angie will be in Vegas for work next week! Oy. Ugh. Ouch. Oh.
I really spent a good 10 hours or so at the computer working today. Fun, right? Especially when your toddler is crawling in your lap with his own keyboard and pushing keys and taking your hand off your mouse to make you punch keys on his keyboard and you feel like a complete loser jackass jerk horrible father because this is what he mimics and you can’t step away to do otherwise. I wanted to play blocks. I wanted to zerbit his belly and run in the backyard and stroll next to him on his Strider bike and get pushed through my office on a spinning pedestal on wheels, spinning with both middle fingers in the air then go home and share a beer with my boy…but of course I didn’t—I couldn’t—do any of these things.
Except share a beer with my boy.
Liam went down for a nap around 11 (he’d basically been up [and had me awake] since 4), so that was cool and I really buckled down on the work plans. The cupboard runs bare but I made myself a turkey sammich (how old is too old for turkey?) on double fiber bread with mustard and shredded mozzarella and no greens—I’m out of greens—and I piled some BBQ chips next to that. I drank water. I worked.
Liam woke up 2-ish and I set him up with a lunch of refried black beans and apple sauce and some watered down OJ and two strawberries, but he didn’t eat the strawberries. Neither did the dogs, although he tried to feed them to them. He ate well. It’s so nutty to see a kid developing, especially when it’s your first kid. I feed him on a plate now. He uses a spoon. He doesn’t just shake his head—he has started saying “no,” just in the last few days. He says “shoes,” and tries to get me to take him outside. He loves birds, and shouts “BIRD!” He loves our “CAHT(s)! and our “DAHG(s)!” He tries his voice at some simple tunes. When I put a new diaper on him then stand him up and put a pair of shorts in front of him and say “Right leg,” he lifts his right leg and puts it in the shorts and then does the same with the left leg and then he has pants on. These things are all so simple yet so remarkable when it’s your first kid.
I worked while Liam ate. I really did NOT give the poor boy the attention he deserved today. Half-assed parenting: I think that’s what it’s called. Maybe quarter-assed. Angie got home around 5:30 and we decided to go for a run together but I kept working…and working…and finally sometime around 6:30 I forced myself to stop and we went for a run—me pushing the stroller and all of us (minus Elba because it was too hot, Nosta because she’s too old, and the cats for obvious reasons) ran the river loop (~3.5 miles), which doesn’t actually involve seeing the river but gets us close to it. The Ancil Hoffman loop, by our more formal namery. It was a nice 96-degree run, maybe a bit hotter, but family runs are tops. Being outside and running with your best friend and pushing you kid along and chatting about things—family runs are tops.
We got home and I chugged down more water, then showered while Angie and Liam played outside. I started dinner, which turned out to be my favorite pizza I’ve made in a while. Tomato sauce (from a can because one batch of sauce we made had gone bad and the other is in the freezer) mixed with green onion, basil, oregano, diced gypsy pepper (all from the garden), garlic powder, paprika, salt, and pepper…all that simmered for a bit then put on a fresh dough (from Whole Foods—I tossed it myself) then covered with a mix of cheese, more green onion, more gypsy pepper (but not diced), and pepperoni. I steamed some of my favorite green beans from the garden with some butter, salt, and pepper, and we had those on the side. I ate too much: 5 slices of pizza, plus my green beans.
I drank beer number one while cooking. I drank beer number 2 with dinner. I’m drinking beer number C right now, still. Lagunitas. Little Sumpin’ Wild. I took a little sumpin’ to help me sleep. I’m trying real hard to stop thinking about work—to avoid opening a document and start typing away. Researching. Obsessing. These are things I do, but not tonight. Not now. Now I’m going to finish these last drinks of beer while reading One Hundred Years of Solitude, sitting in my giant bean bag, trying to convince myself I really am going to clean the house tomorrow.
Oh, I did do the dishes tonight. That’s not to say I cleaned the kitchen, though. I wish we could afford maid service. I also wish cats were useful, but….
Instead, I’ll cap this off.
So good night, those of you who encouraged me to keep going with this blog thing. It’s nice to assume someone cares, but it’s even better to know one or two people do. Maybe even three. Three, ah ah! Three caring people! (Thank you, Count. And good night to you, too.)